Theory (Z)
by TheBlueAmethyst
Summary: When the madman summons a demon to sacrifice him to, he expects a terrifying creature. Instead, a woman with brilliant sunset-orange eyes steps forward and offers him a chance to survive. (Or: a different final Master-Servant pair enters the Fourth Holy Grail War, for no Master Attendant refuses a challenge. Everything changes.)
1. A Small Cry

**WARNING: **This story contains crude language/humor, angst, graphic depictions of violence, gore, death, adult and sensitive themes, headcanons/fanons, and heavy spoilers. Reader discretion is advised.

**DISCLAIMER: **Food Fantasy is the intellectual property of Elex-Funtoy Games. The Fate series is owned by Type-Moon and Kinoko Nasu. No disrespect is meant by the creation of this story, and I am simply borrowing these media for entertainment and transformative purposes.

* * *

Chapter 1:** (A) Small Cry**

Remember, as butterflies mindlessly flutter with the wind.

The wind's course changes ever so slightly.

\- Unknown

* * *

For as long as he remembers, Itsuki is content. It's kind of like after his Mama makes the best meal ever and he gets to play with his friends all day. Since his announcement of that cool Gonudam action figure Dad got for him recently, his friends have all been begging for a chance to play with it.

He lets them play with it of course. He wouldn't be a very good friend if he didn't!

Much to his dismay however, Kaito secretly brings it to school the next day and an unfamiliar teacher with short brown hair spots him presenting it to another group of boys during recess. When she drags him aside and asks whose it is, Itsuki's name is immediately babbled. He tries to explain that Kaito isn't disturbing any classes since it was break time and promises to keep it in his bag, but the teacher doesn't listen. She simply tells him to see her after class and walks away.

Itsuki whirls on his friend after that, but when Kaito says that it's not his fault because the robot is flashy and he shouldn't get mad at him for it, he struggles not to say something he may regret. Mama always tells him to be careful in choosing his words, but the impulse is strong.

"You shouldn't have brought it to school anyways. I did say you should be careful with it too, since it took a while to assemble." It comes spilling in the end, and he finds it hard to stop. "So why did you?"

Kaito wrinkles his nose. "I just wanted to play with it. Daichi and Yuuta have been hogging it all week."

"Yeah, but now it got confiscated." He sighs out loud and threads a hand through his short brown hair. "And I saw you showing it off to others. I don't think that counts as playing."

That makes Kaito narrow his eyes. "You know, if you're going to act like that, maybe we shouldn't play for a while."

Oh no, stupid mouth. "W-wait, I just wanted to—"

"Yeah, yeah, let's talk about this later. I'm going back inside."

It bothers him all throughout afternoon classes, and for that he nearly fails a pop quiz in science and fumbles his words during history recitation. When the bell rings, he storms out of the classroom, ignoring the calls of his name. Once he's at the faculty office, Nakajima-sensei, she introduces herself, gives him an expectant look.

"I promise I won't bring it here again." When Nakajima-sensei quirks an eyebrow, he reluctantly adds under his breath: "I'll tell it to them as well."

Nakajima-sensei nods, and pulls out his Gonudam from her desk drawer. "Nanase-kun, right? You know, I often hear of you from Chiba-sensei."

He blinks up at her. "From Aya-sensei? What does she say?"

She smiles, and pushes her glasses up her nose. "Hm, well, she notes that you've been much more hyper during the past few weeks."

Itsuki flushes. Come to think of it, he probably has been acting as if he's in a sugar rush. He couldn't help it though, ever since the new wave of mecha anime on TV became the new center of discussions in school, he's been hoping to have someone to talk to about it. "… Is that bad?"

"Oh, not at all," says Nakajima-sensei with a chuckle. "In fact, she's very happy. She says you've been a quiet one since you transferred here last summer, and she's relieved that you're making friends over similar interests."

He tries for a smile, but it feels forced on his face. "I'm glad too sensei."

Her expression softens, and she glances back at her computer monitor with a hum. "Oh, it seems I've kept you here long enough. Stay safe on your way home, Nanase-kun."

Itsuki bids her goodbye and trudges down to the main hallway, ignoring the ache from the absence of familiar faces by the entrance.

They could have at least waited for him.

He stuffs the robot deeper down his bag for good measure, and instead wonders what Mama is cooking for dinner—hamburgers, maybe—and changes out of his indoor shoes. He hopes Dad comes home early like he promises. They still haven't made any progress on their plans for their surprise party, and while the streamers and balloons they have left over from Mama's old excursion to the orphanage are plentiful, it feels a bit lacking.

He supposes he can ask Dad later.

Itsuki steps out of the building, tuning out of the sounds of chatter, laughter, and the occasional cars in the background in favor of recapping the recent episodes of that interesting Yasha series in his head. It's pretty neat in terms of story, and he likes the character design of the Yasha clan the best. Maybe he can share it to the others when they talk again.

It's only when he's down the road and the giggles reaches his ears that he blinks back to reality.

Itsuki ducks his head to hide the frown. The trio of girls are debating on whether Akito from Class-A or Shigure from Class-B did better in PE class yesterday. Something about how cool they are during the soccer match, and if Kimiko-chan from the other class already set a love letter in the former's locker.

A part of him does admire how agile and coordinated their footwork is to play such a sport, since he gets a bit confused on when to pass the ball to who at times. The other part still remains in the dark about how these girls' minds jump from one topic to another in between squeals and grumbles regarding Math homework.

Itsuki hastens his pace down a few more streets and cuts through an alleyway to get home. The daffodils in the front garden of the two-storey house greet him with its pleasant smell. The orange and reddish skies reflect against the black-tinted windows, casting shadows that dance along the flowerbeds Dad usually tends to. He tugs at the metal gate, only to pause.

The hairs on his skin stand on end, and Itsuki reflexively pulls at the hood of his dark green jacket. He discreetly glances down both sides of the street, only finding a stray cat languidly stretching atop a neighbor's wall.

Maybe it's his imagination?

Shaking off the strange feeling, Itsuki enters. "I'm home!"

The dark entrance hall and the lack of mouthwatering scents stump him briefly. The untouched shoe rack indicate Mama hasn't stepped out for a run to the convenience store or to the market, so perhaps she's fallen asleep again.

Itsuki removes his shoes and pads up to the second floor and straight to his parent's bedroom. Not bothering to knock, he peers in. He squints in the darkness and sighs. Mama is leaning over the desk with her arms folded, a stack of folders, stray papers, and binders blocking the lamp illuminating the room.

The first time he comes across this scene is around six months ago. He catches a glimpse of sketches, complex diagrams, convoluted formulas spanning pages, and handwritten notes transcribing some kind of magic system one would expect from a fantasy or supernatural story. His skim of one of many scribbled notes is an unfinished depiction of a process involving a 'catalyst closest to the desired Soul'. Mama wakes shortly after he struggles through the last bits, and plucks the papers from his grasp with a strange look.

Under his curious stare, she explains that it's personal research after a fairly recent discovery. Mama tells him that if he keeps it a secret from Dad, she'll share her findings with him, which would take months depending on her contacts.

"It'll be our little secret, okay, my dear sapling?"

Itsuki relents, even if it itches to ask more. It's the least he could for Mama after all, especially since she's been so determined. Her notes are getting even longer, as a matter of fact, written in code and shorthand he barely understands even if he asks for translations from time to time.

Pushing those thoughts aside for the time being, Itsuki throws the door open.

He gags.

The smell of copper assaults his nostrils, and he steps back with a hand slapping over his face. All he hears is the sound of his racing heart, and the distant _thump_ of his bag falling to the floor. His body is unresponsive—he needs to check, it can't be blood, it can't—and his knees wobble dangerously. Something cold nips at his chest with the force of an angered wasp.

Itsuki grits his teeth and forces himself to move.

The room spans for what seems like an eternity until he's an arm's length away from Mama. She looks even paler under the faint light, and her long, brown locks block most of her face. Itsuki hovers uncertainly and lays a hand on her forearm.

She's cold.

It's probably just the air-conditioning, isn't it? Mama gets cold really easily, and since she's dozed off like this without a blanket, he bets her fingers are a deep purple. Dad often jokes about how easily she turns into a human icicle in the winter, a trait he is glad he didn't acquire.

The floorboard creaks behind him, but Itsuki barely has time to register it when he's pulled back and a sharp pain erupts in the back of his head.

Then there is nothing.

**000**

When the haze lifts, Itsuki finds himself on the floor. His eyes adjust to the dim lighting, the faint voices in the background providing little comfort. The chill and slight numbness of his cheeks indicate that he's been here for a while, and his mind sluggishly plays catch up. Lifting his head, stars fill his vision and he blinks them all away until his eyes water.

As soon as the dark spots recede, the heavy smell of iron penetrates his nose. It's dizzying.

A strong sense of _wrong_ stirs in him, and the partial view of the two familiar couches being illuminated by the TV broadcasting the evening news from behind a house plant, brings that sensation to a high. The drawn curtains mute the brightness of the streetlight nearby, as if hiding the living room away from any snooping neighbors. Something niggles in the back of his mind, but another stab at his cranium makes him whimper.

It hurts.

Where is Mama? Dad? He would take the medicine they'll hand him, despite the weird taste. Anything is better than this.

He doesn't know how long he stays like that, until a jingle and an announcer's voice washes over him. Upcoming elections, celebrity gossip, a robbery, reports of a serial killer in Fuyuki leaving pentagrams—

Itsuki freezes.

He screams—Kami-sama, what's going on, please, anyone, help me—but no one hears. The tape on his mouth holds strong, and bile rises up his throat. His attempts to stand are met with resistance, limbs tightly bound together.

"Oh, you're awake!" a young male voice chirps.

Sneakered feet enter his line of sight, and a bucket clatters to the floor, spilling red. Itsuki flinches when the stranger crouches before him. An average-looking orange-haired teenager wearing a purple collared shirt over a white one and dark blue pants stares at him with a relaxed expression, only betrayed by the splatters of blood on his cheeks and arms.

His chest tightens. No. He won't believe it.

"I'm sure you're confused, kiddo. Don't worry, you kind of missed most of the fun today, but the grand finale's about to be set up." His strange smile sends shivers down his spine. "Sit tight, alright? I'll get back to you in a minute."

The stranger maneuvers around the couch, humming to himself. Itsuki's eyes widen. Someone is sitting on the couch, uncaring of the intruder. The shock of reddish-brown spiky hair seemed messier than usual, and he desperately prays. Unbidden, he catches the slow _drip-drip-drip_ of something between the person's legs.

It can't be. It can't be.

"Where did I put it… oh, there you are." The stranger holds up a weathered book. He glances back at Itsuki and grins. "From the look on your face, it seems you've noticed, hm? A shame he didn't last as long as he did when we started, he was quite the interesting character when we talked. Colorful commentary was a nice bonus."

Itsuki stares in disbelief. The stranger, no, the madman walks back and picks up the bucket, the liquid sloshing lazily. "Not as vocal as the woman though, she's given me very cool ideas for next time. Guts for garters would be pretty cool, but they're too inefficient. On the other hand, slowly prying fingernails and then periodically dunking them in acid until nothing but bone is left? Hah, priceless!"

Itsuki blanches. His parents are the nicest people he's ever known, and if they ever got so mad as to curse someone so intensely…

He tries to push back the new wave of images his traitorous mind conjures. His Mama wishing nothing but pain as she drowns in her own blood—stop it, stop it—of Dad trying and failing to fight, tied down and left to watch helplessly.

No, no, no, no. It's not true!

The man regards him with nothing but amusement. "Man, I'm jealous. How'd you get such parents, kiddo?" He pauses briefly and then shakes his head. "Heh, well, I suppose no one is ever what they seem, aren't they?"

Itsuki clenches his fists until his nails bite into skin. It just can't.

"So like, I'd really love to stay and chat, but I'd rather not work with congealed blood. Gets hard to paint with, you see?" The madman waves the book around, and the words 'theory' and 'ritual' jump out at him. "This is a real important project your parents contributed to, and it'd be a shame to put it to waste."

Lying, he has to be lying!

_The blood you smell says otherwise, _his mind hisses. It coils around his heart, gripping it with dread. _He killed them, and you're next._

The madman walks off to the side past the dining chair by his feet, propping the bucket next to two others. His stomach lurches when the madman removes one of his shoes and dips his toes in. Wet splashes and squelching noises accompany the reporter's spiel in the background, and the man's increasing mumbles as he draws the pentagram frays at his nerves.

Itsuki closes his eyes. He can't do it anymore. It has to be a nightmare.

Please, Kami-sama. Anyone… please.

"That looks about right. Let's see… silver and iron to the origin. Gem and duke of contracts to the corner… the ancestor is my great master, er-hm, what's-his-name? Hold on…" The madman grumbles to himself, stumbling over his words as he continues whatever madness he speaks of. "Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill. All right, that makes it five times!"

Seconds tick by until news of the man's infamous crimes catches both of their attention. "Maybe I went a little too far."

Itsuki jolts when something heavy lands on the floor in a boneless heap. Almost magnetized by the sight of his Dad's still form, his normally pristine white undershirt dyed crimson under the light. Not that it mattered, for there are several slash wounds and marks crisscrossing his arms in the most unclean fashion, and his pants are rolled up, showing shallow cuts.

The TV clicks shut, and the darkness returns.

"Do you think demons exist, kiddo?"

Itsuki pushes the hysterical laughter far, far down. Everything he wants to yell goes unheard, for the madman merely approaches him with wet footsteps. "All the papers and magazines call me a demon, but wouldn't that be kinda rude if demons really did exist? You've gotta be clear about these things."

_You're more of a demon than anything else could ever be. _

He reflexively recoils when the madman squats and mockingly salutes him. "Sup! I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke and I'm a demon!" The madman's eyebrows scrunch up. "I dunno if that's how I should be introducing myself."

Itsuki grinds his teeth, blinking away the remaining tears just as the madman carelessly dangles the book in his face. "So like, I found this old book in the storehouse." He flips the book open, and the spine groans dangerously. "It looks like my ancestors were researching how to summon demons. So like, I've gotta find if demons really do exist!"

In that moment, Itsuki wishes nothing but to strangle the man. His parents and every other victims got killed just for that?!

The madman lazily walks back to the chair and the roar of the blood in his ears peter out. "… It'd be pretty dumb to just chat with it and have nothing to offer him. So kiddo… if a demon really does show up…"

His heart stops.

"Mind if we let it kill you?"

No.

Not like this. Not like this! It isn't fair!

His wrists and ankles strain against the bindings, but they hold firm. It rubs at him, the same way his skin prickles uncomfortably. He screams harder, he pushes harder, his instincts begging him to try. The madman cackles, and Itsuki sees red.

It isn't fair at all. Why does he have to die by this bastard's sick whim?! He should be the one to die! He should rot in hell! He should pay!

And a small part of his soul cries, because _I don't want to die like this._

Itsuki twitches and seizes at the flash of colors in his eyelids, and all the air rushes out of his lungs. A searing pain and the sensation of suffocating smoke envelop his body, focusing on his hand. It ends quickly, and the bright light emanating from the circle of blood stabs at his strangely sensitive eyes. Electricity arcs above it, causing wind and thick clouds of smoke to rise.

The chair is knocked over at the madman's gasp.

A figure manifests itself in patches of light. The smoke dissipates, and there stands a hooded person, their fur-trimmed coat obscuring the upper part of their body apart from long strands of hair cascading down to the chest level. The short skirt, fishnet stockings and heeled boots seem to indicate that the new arrival is a woman—or takes on the appearance of one.

The madman takes tentative steps forward as if delicately approaching a newborn animal. His shoulders are coiled, and from here, Itsuki can practically see the indecisiveness customary to new and inescapable interactions.

"Hm, who're you?" the 'woman' asks, breaking the silence. "Are you my Master?"

It hits Itsuki then. _Oh Kami, he actually summoned a demon._

"Uh… I dunno about Master. Maybe..?" The madman awkwardly puts a hand to his head. "Anyways, I'm Uryuu Ryuunosuke. I'm currently unemployed, and I like killing people, pretty much, especially young women and kids."

"I can see and smell that," the demon emotionlessly remarks.

The madman perks up, and gestures behind him and towards Itsuki. "Heh, of course, I had to give it my all for you. Which reminds me, how about a sacrifice?"

Itsuki swallows dryly when bright-sunset orange eyes glare from the shadows of the demon's hood. The pressure pins him in place, and the intensity is directed back at the madman. "Then it seems that everything is much clearer to me now. Lady Luck seems to like reminding me of things long past."

The demon pads over without a sound aside from the screech of metal she pulls from under its coat. The knife glints wickedly under the ambient lighting from the windows, and he shrinks back.

"Wow, that looks sharp!" the madman sounds in awe.

The demon gazes at him intently, and the dark-red scarf hides whatever manic grin it may be sporting now. It leans forward, knife raised.

This is it. He's going to die.

… At least he'll be with Mama and Papa now.

"Close your eyes, unless you want to watch."

There is no time to think, and a whistle slices through the air. A choked gasp escapes the madman, metal clatters to the floor, and liquid spills. Metal screeches once more, and boots creak over the floorboards. Gleeful satisfaction runs through Itsuki at the sound of the madman's pained coughs which soon turn into hoarse chuckles.

"It's so pretty…"

Itsuki blinks. The demon wordlessly hefts a sword towards the madman, who seems to be entranced by the red blooming on his chest. "So… it was… inside me all along?"

Strangely enough, the demon lowers its sword until the tip meets the madman's lap, and quietly watches him babble to himself. The small, almost peaceful grin of the madman grips his chest and makes him want to run up and kick him. Why in the world is he smiling like that?

They'll never get a chance to hold that surprise party anymore because of him, and yet he's smiling?

Before his mind continues its dark path, the demon sighs. A small, but loaded one he'd often hear Dad or his sensei do after a long day. "Pray to whatever God you believe in for a chance for mercy, Ryuunosuke, for there is none for you here."

The loud crack reverberates in his skull, and he is magnetized by the orange soaring and landing with a loud _thud_ near the kitchen doorway. The demon flicks the blood from one of her knives before turning to face him.

"I'm surprised." The demon tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes. "You didn't look away."

Is it really? _The bastard deserved it._

The demon kneels beside him, the scent of smoked wood and salt blending in with the copper-iron stench. It's oddly relaxing, and not so bad a memory for his last moments. "Guess I should have expected it, since you did bring me here."

Much to his shock, the demon shrugs off her hood, revealing a lightly tanned exotic face with sharp features, and reddish-orange tinted goggles sitting snugly atop her head. She tugs her scarf down, and the frown does nothing but accentuate the rough aura around her. What's even more surprising is when the demon cuts off his bindings with a gentleness that completely baffles him.

"… Aren't you going to kill me?" His voice is distant and so small, even to him.

"I'm afraid not," she answers. An ugly pause, then: "Do you want me to?"

Did he? It feels like the best option, all things considered. What else can he do anyways? With the madman gone… "You could. I have nothing left."

It should have stung, but the wisps of anger fizzles, and there's a gaping empty hole that aches and _aches_. He curls up, arms gripping his jacket, and breathes deeply.

He's so tired.

The demon hums. "You don't sound so sure."

Itsuki's eyes snap open, and he pulls himself up with a snarl. "What do you want me to do then?"

"Make a decision," she calmly says. "Yes, I could end you here easily if you so desire, but… you don't really want to, do you? Didn't you want to live?"

That draws a bitter laugh out of him. What can he live for now? His parents are dead, all his relatives are abroad, and he is nothing but an average, forgettable child always blending in the background. No one would really miss him.

"And do what? Cry for the things I lost?" he spits out. "It's useless anyways."

Itsuki startles at the weight on his head, fingers combing through his hair—much like Mama. His throat tightens at the soothing motion, and the world blurs. Before he could really comprehend it, Itsuki throws himself into the demon's lap. His sobs are muffled by the coat, and he wants nothing more than to scream senseless.

It hurts.

Why did he have to be left alone like this? It's so unfair. He cries, and takes solace in the presence of the demon holding his life in her hands. For all the lives lost, for this messed up scenario, for his uncertain future.

So, he embraces that familiar darkness soon after.

* * *

**AN: **You've just read the product of me trying to brainstorm, producing a plot bunny that wouldn't go away, and going crazy over the next couple of days. Yay..? In all honesty, I have no idea where this is going, but I find it really entertaining to write two stories so alike yet so different at the same time. I've only seen one other fanfiction revolving around this scenario (although it's a Caster!EMIYA story-which is great, by the way), but I do hope to take my own spin on things.

I also hope that I've done justice to Ryuunosuke's character, however brief his appearance, since he's real fun to write since he's so hammy yet infuriating in his casualness towards life and death. Still a real POS and this particular scene may have contributed to the muse, but I do appreciate his chaotic role in Zero.


	2. For Better or Worse

Chapter 2:** For (B)etter or Worse**

Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day.

\- William Shakespeare, Macbeth

* * *

Fairy lights trail and arc above the windows and over the vanity mirrors and drawers, and the cream-colored walls feel much brighter. The small box of trinkets is laid beside the bed, and he eagerly clambers up. Mama follows with a chuckle, and they huddle under their pillow fort, the smell of fresh linen and perfume easily makes his eyes heavy from the get-go.

Not today, he needs to hear it all the way this time!

"Mama, so, read to me?" Itsuki babbles, and if he skips a few words, he only grins. "Oh, please, read it to me?"

Mama's arm loop around him, and her other hand brushes away her wavy black hair. "Of course, sapling, and I'm guessing the usual?"

"Yes!"

"You really love that story, don't you?" She wiggles her fingers in front of him, and he backs away with a high-pitched whine.

"Of course, since even when the bad ghost tried to drag them to the bad place, everybody worked together to defeat him!" Itsuki puffs his chest. "I know I wouldn't listen to the bad ghost, even if he may sound nice. He's just a meanie good at hiding his meanness! That's worse than an honest meanie."

Mama ruffles his hair, and he pouts good-naturedly. "When did I get such a smart little sapling?"

"Heh, since you love me so much~!"

They burst into giggles.

The book is plucked from the stack by their feet, but the moment Mama flips it open, paragraphs upon paragraphs are shown alongside some weird circles and other shapes. He cranes his head up in confusion, but Mama is gone from sight. Itsuki barely has time to yell before the pillow fort falls apart, and the dim lights flicker against the red walls. The splotches of inky blackness close on in him.

Whispers upon whispers, and one voice stands above them all: "I'll come back for you, kiddo."

**000**

Itsuki jerks, immediately regretting it thanks to the spike of pain his neck suffers. He bites at his lip until the feeling subsides. A groan escapes his lips afterwards, both from the after-effects and the throbbing headache.

"That was a lot faster than I thought."

He recoils from the person standing by the doorway, their eerie grin and shock of orange hair coming closer to finally end him—no, I saw you die, go away, _away from me—_and it's gone, leaving only the scowling face of the demon-woman.

Ah. Perhaps it is wishful thinking to think of everything as a particularly vivid nightmare, huh? He slumps back down, recognizing that this is his room and he's been tucked into bed. The desk light is on, and the scattered collection of robot figurines, magazines, and papers of various necessities does not deter the demon from walking in like she owns the place.

"I'm glad you're awake," she says. "I'm sure you're tired since it's only been about two hours, but it's important for the both of us to iron a few things out by this morning."

He opens his mouth, but quickly snaps it shut. It's strange, but he feels that this demon isn't going to do something as drastic as what happened earlier without input. Instead, Itsuki forces himself to stare straight into her eyes.

The demon curls her lips in a faint, approving way. "… Alright then, kiddo—"

"Itsuki," he snaps. "Just… just Itsuki."

This time, she openly regards him like his sensei would when he's being questioned on a difficult Math question. He does not back down. She smirks. "Bou-chama, pry yourself from your bed. I've almost finished cooking."

"B-bou-chama?" he repeats, flabbergasted.

"Yes, bou-chama. Or would you prefer something else? Hm, Itsuki-bou? Ai? Icchan? Ichi? Erk, wait, maybe not the last one…"

Itsuki raises a hand to stop her from muttering too many pet names in one breath. As if sensing his annoyance, she watches as he jumps off bed with wobbly knees. To his surprise, the demon with the strange naming sense effortlessly picks him up like a baby and walks downstairs despite his protests. She's exceptionally warm and steady however, and it grounds him the moment they're down by the foyer.

He does not know why he is feeling so anxious all of a sudden.

They step into the living room. The stench makes his throat constrict. It's crawling up from the cracks in the floorboards, spreading all around the walls. It's not stopping, and he's trapped—

It's gone as soon as it came, and he shakily sighs. After a quick turn into the kitchen area, and Itsuki immediately misses the touch as he's settled next to the kitchen table.

"Sit. I'll be quick."

He awkwardly shuffles in his seat as the demon opens the fridge and a few cupboards, checking the rice cooker with a newly formed smile on her face. Despite his initial assumption, she seems more human than demon in the domestic setting. She mutters something under her breath and plucks a skillet from the rack. Her other hand picks up a bowl full of beaten eggs, and she works on what seems to be… an omelet? The smell of onions, chicken, and ketchup fill the air, and he relishes in it.

Mama would have teased him about it, but his nose is a sensitive one, and it indulges in what he loves. The pan goes sizzling louder when the rice is introduced and his stomach growls.

The demon throws him a pleased smile. He ducks his head, cheeks heating up.

If nothing ever happened, then this scene wouldn't be out-of-place. A normal weekday, and suddenly, it's not.

He ignores the twinge of pain, just as a plate of omurice and a glass of water is set in front of him. The demon hands him a fork, and he numbly remembers that he hasn't eaten dinner yet.

"Go ahead," she gestures.

His stomach is the one to respond, and his face colors. Itsuki reluctantly stabs into the egg, but he stares back up at her curiously. There is no plate in front of her. "Don't you need to..?"

The demon shakes her head and props an arm on the table. "Nah, I'm not hungry."

Itsuki gives her an uneasy look, but he may as well eat since she did cook for him. "Thank you for the food…"

Oh. That's… tastes so nostalgic, almost as if the early morning weekend rolled in. The slight spiciness is a pleasant touch, like he pads in after a great hot shower to settle down and watch some anime. His parents are there, smiling and laughing while they trade silly little jokes. The after-taste of herbs cocoon's him in their arms, nestled in soft, freshly washed blankets. He sniffs and hurriedly brushes away the tears, and ah, only traces of ketchup are left.

Itsuki grabs the water and downs it. It's relieving, and a weight seems to have been lifted from his entire being. He peers up at the quiet woman who seems content just staring off into space at his not-quite-breakdown.

Did she..?

"It was delicious. T-Thank you, nee-san," his voice is hoarse and cracks near the end, and he fights against that burning sensation in his eyes.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." The older woman nods her head in acknowledgement, and says nothing else of his pathetic display. They sit in a few minutes of terse silence. "I've moved your parents to their bedroom."

He startles at the non-sequitur. "O-oh, t-thank you..?"

The older woman's lips thin and she somehow seems a tad paler. "It's nothing. I couldn't just leave them there. I've also cleaned up the scene."

"Ah." Then what happened earlier? No, keep focus. That can wait. "What about..?"

She wears a dark, unforgiving expression. "I've collected him. Don't worry. I'll make sure the nearest station's mail is received soon enough."

Itsuki nervously licks his lips. He isn't exactly sure how to respond to that other than a grim nod. Good riddance, he supposes. Judging by her reaction though, he'll get what's coming to him even from beyond the grave.

"Oh wouldn't you know," she states mysteriously. "But enough of this for now, I'd like to get to our little talk."

That's right, he nearly forgot about that. "O-oh, uhm, o-okay..?"

Those sunset-orange eyes sharpened. "Let me get straight to the point. If you could actually do something that can potentially bring back your parents, even if it's dangerous, would you take the chance?"

Is she serious? A chance to bring his parents back… can that even happen? "… I-I would."

Her hand rests on the emptied cup, glare burning into his soul. "Even if it means crossing a road you cannot turn back from?"

"I…" He really didn't have much to lose at this point. "Yes."

"And even if it may mean your death?"

Itsuki hesitates, and the visible shiver that courses through his body garners a soft, melancholic chuckle. "Interesting, so you're willing to sacrifice everything but your own life for the sake of your wish?"

"NO!"

The tableware rattles precariously at the sudden slam of hands, and Itsuki takes a second to realize he's at fault. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. "I-I... I mean, I don't…" The words falter in the face of her unusually blank expression, and he clenches his fists.

"I'm not like him," the venom in each syllable pumps through his chest, but he lets it fuel him. "… I-I… I'd rather die."

"Oh?"

Deep breaths, just take deep breaths. "I refuse," he said firmly.

The older woman merely lets out a noncommittal noise. She lifts her hand, and for a second, a burn mark could be seen marring the left part of her forehead and stopping just near her eye. "Since you're reacting like that, then you're not completely hopeless."

His eyebrows shoot up. A question lies on the tip of his tongue, but she beats him to it. "Do you trust me to help you?"

"Huh?"

"If you do want to see your wish come true, do you trust me to help you?" she repeats.

Itsuki fumbles. It's been nothing but a series of questions and answers, and he finds the pressure overwhelming. The woman's gaze is expectant and openly curious, and the clock ticking in the background echoes in his head.

A chance, however slim… could he really take it? But there isn't much he can parse from her cryptic statements. While he is thankful for the meal, is that enough to trust her with what seems to be something so huge?

With that thought, he settles for: "… Depends on what you're helping me with."

"Good answer." She reciprocates his grim look, mouth twitching with a hint of appreciation. For what, he couldn't tell. "Now, bou-chama—"

"Itsuki."

"Listen carefully. You summoning me here was both a coincidence yet a foregone conclusion the moment the year started." Wait, what? "You see, every sixty years, there is a war for what is called the Holy Grail, a relic which supposedly grants wishes."

"But that's…" and the words die off. Right, she is living proof that supernatural things can exist.

"It's quite the miracle." She shakes her head in what seems to be a mix of amusement and resignation. "In any case, this Holy Grail War is usually performed here in this city of Fuyuki, with the participation of seven Masters and their Servants."

"Wouldn't a war be noticed by people?" Itsuki's eyes widen. "Is… is that why some people think of Fuyuki as a cursed land?"

"I believe that this war has a mediator to help hide most—and I say most loosely—of its activities from the public. Otherwise, I'm certain there would be more of an uproar, especially since a young one like you is involved." He gulps at her pointed stare. "The seven Masters are usually magi or magically-capable individuals, but even regular people can be chosen if circumstances align. Of course, battling with such skewed odds is stupid, so the Servants are there to fill the roles. They're Heroic Spirits, people or legends of great renown."

Itsuki wants to stand and move—just do something—but those sunset-orange eyes pin him down. "So I guess that's why he called you a demon… he isn't a 'magi' so he's not familiar with all of this war business."

If this war didn't exist, then maybe he wouldn't have gotten the brilliant idea of killing—no. Not their fault. It's his for being delusional. He's already paid the price.

Besides, if what this so-called Servant is saying is true, then there's a chance.

"Indeed." The Servant takes a deep long breath. "So depending capability, catalysts, or again, circumstance, the summoned Heroic Spirit may fall into the class of Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Assassin, Caster, and Berserker."

His brows furrow. "Is that like a specialization?"

"You can call it that." The Servant stares out into nothing. "Each class has their own strengths and weaknesses, not accounting the legends and history they have, and an equal opportunity to win if used to their fullest potential."

Itsuki rakes his eyes up and down the woman. While her large coat hid most of her physique, the power of her swing did a clean job earlier. "You're strong, right?"

Her face beams, and his heart jumps and plummets soon after. "Not exactly."

"But you said—!"

"Unfortunately, while the summoning itself is complete, I'm a little unstable at the moment. That's taking into consideration your… low reserves, but that's expected of a civilian." It's then that he spots the same golden patches of light eating away at her form. She flicks a piece of eggshell at his nose, and his jaw clicks shut in response. "Now, now, gawking is rude."

Itsuki struggles to look away, and he grips his fork tighter. "How do I make it stop..?"

"If you fully agree to become my Master, then I'll stabilize enough to last for more than a few hours." His mouth opens, because _no, don't leave_— "Hold on bou-chama, I'm not done yet."

Kami, what else is there?!

"Your civilian background is one strike against us," she says in a matter-of-factly tone. "No magi background puts you in more danger than the other participants. I'm also certain that we're the last pair so that's two huge disadvantages on our part."

That's true, and to have it outlined doesn't make their partnership (?) any more appealing. Doesn't that put them into an 'underdog' sort of situation then? "… And the pros, if there's any?"

The glint of ruthlessness in her gaze unnerves him.

"Oh there are. For one, your Command Seals can boost my power to tremendous heights if you wish to." She motions to his hand, the one with the red tattoo he's been ignoring. Huh, so that has a use? "While Command Seals mark you as a Master, they also serve as the proverbial 'leash' to a Servant."

"Does that mean I can order you around?" It's not the weirdest thing he's heard, but still.

"Not quite, but close." The Servant grins crookedly. "You have three absolute orders you can impose on me, although whether or not I follow depends entirely on you."

That sounds awfully ominous. While she doesn't seem like the type to randomly stab people, it's the little things that ring alarm bells in his head.

He hopes it won't come to that. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, good, but I'm just getting started." The Servant waggles her fingers with a cocky grin. "You see, each class' legends can hold the key to their victory or defeat, so knowing their True Name would be of utmost importance. That is a great advantage for us. I am of the Caster class. My True Name does not matter, for my name does not exist in this realm and would not even be of much use."

Does not exist? "Are you a spy?"

Itsuki wishes he does not blurt out the first thing on his mind, but finds it worth it when she guffaws. "At one point, you could say I was. But no, by technicality, I'm a chef."

"A-A chef?" he squeaks.

"Well, the public really only focused on that part of my skillset." She nonchalantly shrugs. "I have plenty more secret ingredients to spice things up, so to speak."

Try as he may, Itsuki cannot suppress his utter disbelief. A _chef_ in what a war between humans who've transcended their humanity, and is stifling her giggles like there is nothing wrong with that confession. Of course, he knows that she is able of fighting or something along those lines after earlier, but it isn't exactly reassuring to know the odds are so stacked against them.

"It wouldn't be a fight if the other side is completely hopeless." She throws a knowing look at him. Caster picks up the plate and moseys off to the sink, and he internally thanks the heavens that she didn't choose to comment on his undoubtedly pink-tinted cheeks. "My 'special power' that binds me to the role of Caster allows me a fair few talents—some not even originally mine to begin with—capable of overturning an unguarded foe."

Wait, so she does have an actual power? But then why is she just known as an unremarkable chef?

Caster peers from behind the blender on the counter. "Don't look so surprised. Chefs do need to think on their feet if they want to get creative, and especially if we wanted to survive."

Itsuki follows with his cup, and her hand takes it. "S-survive..?"

"Yeah, survive." She quickly dries her hands and turns to him with a severe expression. "My home isn't what you would call paradise after all, and every day is a struggle against immeasurable foes. And fame is just pointless if you don't utilize it correctly, if you ask me."

What in the world? Kami, what kind of Servant did he even get?

"A spry and stubborn one, better get used to it," and she raises an eyebrow at his incredulous expression. "You're an open book, wriggling around like that. You should keep your stance firm and relaxed however, shoulders back and chin up, makes for a more confident look."

He subconsciously shifts his position, but it feels weird.

"Heh, you do look adorable when you try."

Itsuki sputters.

"Oh, as much as I'd like to listen to you beatbox, do tell me," Caster tilts her head to the side, and the patches of light are edging to her neck. "Do you still wish to fight in this war even after all I've told you?"

Itsuki couldn't help but roll his eyes. It's becoming more clear that this—_his _Servant has a penchant for dramatic speeches. "I thought the point of this is to make sure I'm not jumping straight into things without any ideas? And besides, after all you've told me… then I'll trust you to it. I agree to become your Master."

The light stops its ascension, receding by the barest amounts.

"Yes, there may be hope for you yet." Caster's cheeky grin returns. "Just call me Caster, bou-chama."

"Can you please stop calling me that?"

"Hm, Daidai then? Oh, how about Itsu-mou since you're going to constantly shoot me down?"

Itsuki crinkles his nose in distaste. He feels like he's gotten more than he's bargained for.

Caster claps her hands, a lazy-eyed smile on her face. "This is great. If you didn't agree, you'd have to waste those precious Command Seals."

"Uh, right," is all he can say. Something about that makes a bead of sweat roll down the back of his neck.

"In any case, with that long negotiation out of our hair, let's get down to business… is what I'd like to say, but for now, a short break for the both of us, bou-chama." Caster gives him an unimpressed stare. "Don't argue with me on this one. I'd love to talk shop, but I wouldn't want to overload you with too much information."

Itsuki grimaces. "… but what do I do?"

She pauses. Something unreadable enters her eyes, but they vanish as soon as they appear. "Take a shower. Maybe pack a bag for a two-day trip. I just need about an hour to sort something out."

His blood turns cold, but Itsuki only nods.


	3. Causality Break

**WARNING: **Mentions of self-harm, such as self-hitting and excessive rubbing.

* * *

Chapter 3: **(C)ausality Break**

Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom.

\- Arthur Schopenhauer

* * *

It is silent, but that is fine. Ume Ochazuke is usually never one to stay put without stringing little plans for the children she and many others accompanied or for her general amusement, but just for this moment, she lets it be.

The unclear night skies tell a story of strangeness and the distinct structure of buildings in the foreground of the shadowy mountains are an echo of familiarity. Memories of humanity's exploits centuries past flit by, and she finds herself engrossed in picking apart what little she can grasp. It's fascinating to see how a world not plagued by Fallen Angels operates and thrives.

Many new contraptions, gadgets and toys to tinker with! It'd be fun to share with the children, especially with the existence of 'telephones' and 'arcade games'. Surely it would stir some competition and a few good laughs, more so than any rock skipping activities and tree climbing exercises. Dear old Sanma always did put off engaging in any sort of 'modern' form of entertainment, although it is more due to trying to reign in and employ a sense of discipline and appreciation of martial arts than any outright distaste for it.

Their eventual exposure to the many other kingdom's technological innovations had always been a topic in the inn.

A tiny part of her wonders if only…

A small hum breaks her out of the thoughts, and she smiles widely at her companion. "Yes, Boshi?"

Little Boshi bounces towards her feet and nudges her affectionately, with a hint of impatience. She chuckles, picking the reddish-orange ball up with one raised eyebrow. "I know you want to go around, but we have to wait."

He pouts, as much as his eyes can express such. Being the youngest, he has not yet received the gift of speech, but the message is clear as day.

"Yes, I did tell them to have a look around." Boshi whines. "Come now, are you bored of me?"

His entire body shakes comically in denial, and Ume Ochazuke struggles not to laugh. "For a second, I thought you wanted to go out with the big boys, hm?"

Boshi blinks up at her indignantly, not giving ground even when she flicks him affectionately. Her response of the importance of waiting fails when the harsh tug at the connection nearly makes her slip from the roof. Quicker than possible, she hefts her bowl up and drops to the balcony with only the slight disturbance of the wind.

She enters the bedroom, quickly glancing towards the fitfully sleeping child on the bed. Ume Ochazuke meets the tired gaze of the woman she'd never thought she'd see again.

"Attendant?" she calls out.

Her Attendant frowns, and it's seeing ghosts all over again. She doesn't know how to feel about it. "Nightmare," the woman curtly says. "Keep yourself hidden when he wakes."

Ume Ochazuke throws her a wry look. "Oh, ever the surprise gifter, Attendant…"

"I aim to please," she drawls.

She gives her Attendant a sharp stare, her ever-present smile gaining an edge. "I would be even more pleased to hear from you after this."

The exchange ends when another spike resonates through their shared connection, and she disappears from view. The young boy—Itsuki, another child—is visibly shaken, and his terrified look when the Attendant spoke up makes her want to tuck him into her arms and hide him from the world. She watches them interact, the way the Attendant distracts him by her random acts, cautiously extending a hand with a homemade meal, to the probing and assessment.

If she is being honest, it is one of the things that she respects her Attendant for, even if she's taken the mantle of 'Caster' and honeyed interrogator for this unprecedented situation.

As skewed as it is, it's the best course of action.

It's easy to see the young boy barely holding it together. The glint of hope and determination in his eyes after the admittance of a miracle both worries and relieves her. For one, she is actually grateful that he isn't inclined to just jump into it without considering the possible consequences. On the other hand, it's unclear whether or not he is truly ready for said consequences.

Not after tonight.

So when two lines clash and beckon her to come, Ume Ochazuke wavers at the unfamiliar yet stronger of the two crashes into her like a tsunami against a towering wall. The feeling momentarily dissipates when Itsuki reluctantly clambers up the stairs to take a shower.

The moment he is gone, Caster falls to a crumpled heap on the floor. The thicker and familiar line pulsates desperately, and she appears next to the fallen woman.

"… I've… overestimated myself… it seems…" she wheezed.

Ume Ochazuke sighs. "Honestly, you should've reconsidered bringing me out here, perhaps summoned someone else with lesser Soul Power to pull from the Dreamscape. You've already taken to drinking one stamina potion."

"No… I need you to be my eyes out there," Caster says between labored breathing. Tiny pinpricks of light spasm on her form, and her stomach curls at the sight. "Out of every other Food Soul I have within my… limited reserves, you're… you're the most versatile one for the job."

"Why, I'm flattered."

Her bowl clatters unexpectedly, and Boshi peers from underneath. With a worried chirp, he hops towards Caster.

"Oh… you're here, little one?" Boshi simply snuggles up to her side, eliciting an airy, genuine chuckle out of her. "You're adorable as always."

Boshi preens from the praise, and the feather sticking out from his headband straightens.

"I hope you're not too bothered by my request." Caster pats him fondly. "If all goes well, I think we can go out and play soon."

He bounces happily.

"Which does remind me, Attendant," Ume Ochazuke segues. "You're here."

Silence, then a gusty laugh: "Would it be stupid of me to say that I didn't think this would actually happen?"

"Oh, I wouldn't know," Ume Ochazuke hums under her breath. The perfectly sculpted mask does not fail, but that is enough of a message on its own. "I am not the one in between the Dream and Real state."

"To be fair… accessing the innermost layer of the Dreamscape doesn't exactly outline the possibility of spatial distortion." Caster—she should be resting, the children would worry—coughs: "Or essence manipulation."

Ume Ochazuke closes her eyes, and takes a moment. She can sense little Boshi looking between them in confusion. If she is honest, it is truly utterly bizarre, but not unwelcome. In fact: "If Sushi saw you, she might goggle at the idea of you being like Prince Semimaru."

The startled laughter dials the tension down. "I guess."

"Do you think Sashimi will hold her back, or will he join?"

Caster shakes her head in amusement. "Dear Gods, I won't survive both."

Ume Ochazuke beams. "That answers that, then!"

They both shuffle closer to one another, and as soon as Caster isn't on the verge of a coughing fit, she helps her up back to the table. The other line is vibrating, but isn't immediately calling out to her as her Attendant. The lingering taste of anxiety, confusion, desperation, hope, and the emptiness are messing with her however.

"Should I keep watch on our 'bou-chama'?" she asks, unable to help herself. "He's…"

"Please do." Caster answers seriously.

That is all she needed before she's gracefully out of the room.

**000**

The cold water slips through his hands.

A clean tub full of lukewarm water is something he doesn't want to touch. It may have been meant for him but he doesn't deserve that luxury now.

He steps into the shower, and he cares not if he shivers from the relentless torrent in the process.

Itsuki scrubs, until the goosebumps disappear, until the ice-cold sensation of his fingertips burn away, skin turning red under the force. They match the disturbing shade of pinkish-purple marks across his hands and ankles, and it's after a detached scan that he wonders if he must resort to wearing more jackets and sweaters for the time being. He doesn't mind that part much since he's always fond of hoodies and the like, and he can snuggle into it easily.

No one to say otherwise, anyways…

Itsuki fights the urge to scream in frustration, instead smashing his forehead against the tiled walls. Once more, twice more, and the liquid cascading down could've been tears. Apart from his startling awareness of his beating heart and the insistent white noise in the back of his head, is a churning feeling in his gut.

How long will it even take?

Logically, he shouldn't have been so hasty. Under the prospect of reviving his parents, he'd be a fool to pass it up. He'd be a bigger fool to not at least question the nature of this thing he's unwittingly landed himself in. The War itself, for one, and the mysteries surrounding his 'Servant' demand the sort of scrutiny he'd normally reserve for his most favorite shows.

He can't be stupid.

It's only through sheer will that he does not fall into the trap of repeating motion. The dullness is tempting. Deep breaths and just keep breathing, and he slowly pries his bruised forehead away.

Enough, it's enough.

He is not cold.

The drain gurgles as the last of the water is washed away. Patting himself dry, Itsuki slips on a pair of clean pants and a forest green hoodie. He furiously rubs at his sopping wet hair, padding out into the dark hallway.

It's dark, it's dark, someone's _there_—

Itsuki pauses by the stairwell to catch his breath. His foot rises, but then he impulsively backs up in front of the closed bedroom. Caster did say she left them in there.

Should he?

His hand hovers over the handle. There's no telling what he may see. Will their faces be peaceful, as if seeming to only be asleep? Be set in an eternally pained expression? Would they be entirely unrecognizable?

_Open the door then, _his mind taunts.

His breath hitches. "… I-I'll see you in the morning," he whispers.

He hastily stumbles back down. No blood, only the faint smell of bleach and other dizzying chemicals. That is all he considers as he leaves the living room and into the kitchen.

Caster is hunched over the table, a cup of coffee in hand. Her large coat is draped on one of the chairs, exposing her leather armor and dark undershirt with sleeves stopping a little past her elbows. It's a lot more striking to see how out-of-place she looks now without the 'instability' issue. There's a really surreal second between seeing a powerful entity casually flick her gaze up while she sips her drink and do a little wave.

"Finished packing already?"

Itsuki dislodges the pressure from his throat. "I-I-I… uh, n-no… I'll do it later."

She lets her gaze fall, conceding yet clearly unconvinced, and she guzzles down the drink. "I've set a rudimentary barrier for now while a few scouts scope out any vantage points in the city, and I've marked a few interesting spots on the map I got while cleaning."

She points to an unfurled map of Fuyuki proper. A small part of him wonders what else she's rummaged through. "Wait, scouts?"

"I did say I have more up my sleeves, bou-chama." Caster cocks her hip to the side. "As of right now, my body is not exactly capable of handling the stress of battle with your reserves. While I do have means of artificially boosting my mana and forcefully extending what my core can take, I'm limited to about twice a day and I'd not last long afterwards."

He internally winces. They're barely in the war and they're at risk of getting kicked off too early. _No, not if I want to see my parents again._ "So… what do we do to get your 'mana' up?"

Caster hums. "I'm actually having those scouts see if they can find a suitable ley line or any isolated mana hotspots for us to hijack."

"A… ley line…?" So many new terms, and they're competing for importance in his mind.

"It's basically a trail of energy source running across the planet, to keep it simple." Red dots are all over the map. "From what I've extrapolated, Ryuudou Temple, the forest outskirts of said temple, the shopping district, the bridge and the northern area of Miyama are all options."

"How can you tell that so quickly?"

"Miyama and the bridge are close to the waters, more potential for purer ambient energy. As for the rest, mountains are usually hotspots of energy, for their closeness to the sky and connection to the land. The shopping district and the forest on the other hand are directly connected to the water line and close to the hotspots," she answers succinctly. "If possible, I want to find safe zones we can use in these locations. We can't stay here for the long-term game."

He stiffens. "What do you mean?"

Caster draws something from under her coat, holding it too close to his face and making him see double. Thankfully she lowers it and places it on top of the map. The black-ish red oval crystal glows under the faint light. "That is a crystal infused with ambient mana and my own power. It would be easy to blow up several houses with just one and with the right incantation."

"And…?" he croaks. What is she trying to say?

Her smirk is borderline cruel. "I shall not lie to you, Heroic Spirits can and will have a power equal if not greater than that. What do you think having us set camp here for the foreseeable future entails?"

She lets the question linger in the air, and he grows number by the second. He doesn't want to consider it, but, if his parent's home is destroyed in this stupid war then…

_But, but, _that smaller, younger voice whimpers. _It's my home. It's always been._

The pronounced silence does not go unnoticed. Caster moves the black-red crystal to the general area where their home is located. "We're a relatively unknown factor in this war so having this place as our base of operations can work. I could set up a multi-layered barrier around the house for good measure. However, we're at high risk, especially in my current state even if I'm actively using work-arounds."

Yet, what is a home with only faint memories to his name?

Itsuki grits his teeth to prevent grinding his teeth any further. "… We can get my dad's wallet."

"Already did, bou-chama," and without any warning, a brown wallet is thrown at him. He scrambles to catch it, cradling it close to his chest. Oh thank Kami, it's intact. "Unfortunately, hotels and inns aren't safe options, even if we could use the cover of civilian tourists. I could also pose as your distant relative, if anything else."

"Wait, you introduce this idea of staying somewhere else, and then say that's not possible?" Itsuki is baffled. There is a surge of anger, but he squashes it deep, _deep_ down. "What are you suggesting, the sewers?"

"Yes, well." Caster ruffles his hair and bends over the map. "The sewers are actually a good idea, since it's interconnected all over Fuyuki and a less used method of hiding, more or less thanks to the environment. On one hand, it's unsanitary and unfamiliar. On the other, it will cover our scent and we can throw our enemies off our trail with its maze-like structure."

"So..?"

"It's a maybe. Definitely last-resort though." Fingers skirt over the map, and more crystals decorate the map. "I'd like for us to investigate northern Miyama first before anything in a two or three. I need more intel."

Sparkling gold lights swarm the other side of the table. The yelp dies in his throat since Caster doesn't react other than stand straighter. The light pools into one large ball and lands on top of the table with a light smack.

Itsuki blinks a couple of times. He blinks some more.

The pinkish-orange plum-like creature bats its beady little eyes at him and does a high-pitched chirp.

"Hello, what brings you back so soon?" Caster coos—actually _coos_, and the creature bounces with a squeak, the grain-looking feather on its green bandana swaying at the act. "You found..? Well, that's troubling. Did they see you?"

It shakes its whole body.

"At least we know their coordinates," Caster muttered, mostly to herself. "Hm, well that's something. Good job, Cha." Caster pats 'Cha' with a little, honest-to-Kami laugh at its pitchy trilling. "Do tell Ume that I want to talk after this."

With one last chirp, it disappears in a flash of light.

For some odd reason, Itsuki feels as if he missed out on something.

"You're making a funny face, bou-chama," Caster snorts. No he isn't! "No need to get so offended about it. But since you're so curious… the work-arounds I mentioned? If I'm the tree, then they're the leaves on the branches."

"You mentioned an 'Ume'," he points out. "They're the branches?"

"Of a sorts..." Caster waves a hand airily. "The best I can describe it is they're the personification of human's many evolving creations. It's best not to think on it too much, it'd take me two days for a crash course otherwise."

Itsuki presses his lips together into a thin line. She's been oddly evasive about her abilities.

Caster glances back to him, seemingly deep in thought. "Anyways, the other two should be about halfway to where I asked for a search, and with any luck we'll be done in about six hours."

Itsuki struggles to find the right question, lest he start demanding answers. "They're… searching for the ley lines, right? Why did the little guy return?"

"Cha found another Master not far away from here. They're in the inner areas of the district past the main road's intersection."

His eyes widen. An actual Master when he's barely wrapping his head around the whole situation? Facing an enemy this early?

"Fortunately, he'd gone undetected," she continues, ignoring his trembling sigh. "Their manor is well-fortified however so he couldn't catch a glimpse of them without the risk of alerting them. It's quite telling of their mastery."

Itsuki worries his lower lip. "S-Should we keep an eye on them then?"

"For now, no." His eyebrows could've flown off from sheer force. "We know they're confident with such wards. They won't be leaving any time soon."

"But still…"

"Trust me, bou-chama." Caster absentmindedly runs a hand through her ponytail. She raises one delicate eyebrow, and it pulls at the hidden scar. "If it worries you, I've already had Cha set a few precautions to test them."

He isn't quite assured by that, but the subject is dropped for the time being. Caster prattles on about taking at least two 'hotspots' for their own good, especially since their method of defense boils down to keeping themselves low profile while they search for a way to rebuild her strength.

"I'm not that desperate yet to pull off the archaic methods," she lets slip after a dizzying explanation of mana and their cores. Itsuki feels it best not to ask, especially with her constipated look. She does however explain the discrepancies between this world's magic system versus hers and how Earth's is apparently 'less restrictive and with more possibilities other than recreations through runic configurations'.

Itsuki tucks that into the back of his mind, all the while heckling that other, unspoken one even further to be picked and prodded at later. There is the inevitability of the gaping hole to worm its way into everything, but he'll take his chances.

If there's one thing he knows, it's that the upcoming days will be worse.

* * *

**AN: **Hopefully this chapter clears up a few things. To make it clear: the Master Attendant is the one summoned as Caster. Originally debated on whether or not to change all the Servants to Food Souls, but I found myself rather fond of having them team up against familiar foes instead of against one another. I'll think of it as a maybe for another fic, who knows?

Thanks for the favorites and follows.


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